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Read Ebook: The Impersonator by Wicks Robert Francis Dick Illustrator
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Ebook has 363 lines and 10798 words, and 8 pages
He opened his eyes. He couldn't remember having ever seen humans before, but he recognized them instantly. Nor could he remember having seen anything before, yet he felt a warm familiarity with all that fell into view--the light panels set flush with the ceiling, the gleaming laboratory paraphernalia erected around the table on which he lay, electronic scanners probing his mind with invisible beams--but, most of all, the two men in white lab coats bending over him.
"Clench your fingers," ordered the shorter of the two humans.
Muscles tightened. Fingers clenched.
"Blink your eyes."
A quick reflex action.
The taller man leaned closer. "What is your name?"
Something tripped deep inside. "Paul Chandler."
The tall man smiled, but somehow the smile never reached his eyes. "Occupation?"
Again something tripped. "Geophysicist."
"And your specialty?"
"Glaciology."
"Your present assignment?"
"I have been appointed by the President of the World Council to head up Project Ice Thaw."
"Which is?"
"A program of weather control to combat the extensive glaciation threatening to plunge the Earth into another ice age. We meet next month in New San Francisco to get final approval on a plan of action."
"And if the project fails?" asked the tall man.
"Catastrophe."
"Clench your fingers," said the shorter man.
Chandler could feel the energy pulse from his brain to his fingers.
"Blink your eyes."
He did so.
"Sit up."
Stiffly he obeyed.
"What manner of creature are you?" asked the tall man.
Something whirred deep in the recesses of Chandler's mind. "A man," he said at last. But he knew he was not.
The tall man depressed a series of buttons on a master control panel. There was a rushing in Chandler's ears, a blurring before his eyes.
The voice of the shorter man floated across a gray void.
"Clench your fingers," it said. "Blink your eyes."
The odd sensation passed and Paul Chandler found himself looking into the eyes of Marta Neilson. She half stood at the far end of the conference table.
"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked.
"Just a moment's dizziness," he said, "It's gone now."
Marta, partially reassured, sat down again.
As Chandler poured himself a glass of water, he studied her clean features as he would a mathematical problem in topology. Add in her blue eyes and white skin, subtract her hair pulled back in a severe bun and her lack of makeup, and she approached the Swedish ideal of beauty.
Her natural magnetism and physical attractions had always stirred an emotion in Chandler, but, strangely enough, not now. She smiled and, automatically, he returned the smile.
"Mr. Chairman." The delegate from Canada frowned at Chandler. "We've debated the problem of causes for nearly two hours and seem to have reached an impasse."
A lean Britisher pushed his chair back. "If you were to solicit my opinion, I'd say we'd reached an impasse before we entered this room."
A stocky Russian with weathered features shot a glance at the Englishman. "Was that remark directed at me?"
"I was under the impression," returned the Englishman, "that we were here to determine an immediate course of action. My government instructed me to work to that end. I do not know what your instructions were."
"My dear Dr. White--" the Russian began, but Chandler's gavel rapped firmly on the table.
"Surely," he said, "Professor Kotenko is willing to concede that a cold climate is not enough in itself to cause glaciation."
"I did not mean to imply that it was."
"There must be snowfall, and snowfall demands a source," Chandler continued.
"And that source is the Arctic Ocean," the Britisher threw in.
The Russian stood up. "Gentlemen," he said, "would you undo a century and a half of Soviet weather control? Would you destroy the Bering Strait Dam and the North Atlantic pumping stations?"
Dr. White stood up to face Kotenko. "If it would stop that infernal ice sheet, yes, by God!"
"It is easy for you to talk," the Russian fired back. "It is not British science that is being impugned."
"And it's not Soviet territory that's being threatened."
"A tribute to Soviet science," the Russian replied, smiling.
The Englishman's neck reddened.
Chandler rapped his gavel again. All eyes turned his way.
"We want Soviet and British science working hand-in-hand with the rest of us on this project. Anything less might spell disaster."
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